Corvinus
Member
- Joined
- Apr 22, 2019
- Messages
- 65
- Reputation score
- 58
Across the land winter is setting in. A meagre harvest following a dry autumn has tempered spirits somewhat in the midlands, but most households have just than to see them through winter, and the coastal regions were more fortunate in this regard, so come spring merchants will happily correct this imbalance, to the benefits of their own purses of course. Sating the greed of tradesmen however is a distant concern, for now there is the hibernal solstice to prepare for. In Longras, the western reaches of the Chakundi Kingdom, and the few settlements in the Kalkundor Marshes the children are excited for the black-toothed krampus chase this event will bring. To the east and all along the Shining Coast the victories and pains of the Changing God are celebrated. In Thelbun the preferred festival is Noxilov, a masked dance and feast in honour of the Unseelie Court of Winter, who will rule the land until the snowmelt in spring, whilst in the north households wonder if the will be visited by Lady Murn. The traveller-come-mage-come-warrior-come-trickster wanders the land in disguise, her mithril spear a staff of oak, her adamantine blade an eating knife, the sack of treasure, a simple sack. Generous hospitality in this period will be repaid with wealth and good fortune in the months to come.
Between Fort Perith and the Chakundi capital Firspra, the village of Hythe has an extra reason to feel festive: a tribe of ogres that were threatening the small community is no more. Half were cut down by blade and magic, the remaining fled. They could return, but the nomadic brutes favour survival over revenge, and it is far more likely they will not return to these parts for a generation at least. For now, the heroes of Hythe enjoy the village's hospitality. Short on coin the grateful folk were more than happy to arrange for them to stay at the settlement's lone inn, the Rooster and the Kitten. An early snowstorm has blanketed the mountainside in white. It is unlikely to snow again soon, but this high up it won't be melting until spring either, so for a few days travel will be slow until the boots and wheels of the more determined pilgrims force the snowy roads to settle. One midday, scarcely three weeks before the hibernal solstice, one such traveller approached Hythe. She had followed the stories of the heroes, and carried with her a letter for two of them: Andur Estevan and Mirian Evenwood. The messenger is brazen and rude, making a scene with the heroes that soon replaces the ogres defeat as the story on everyone’s lips. It turns out she is Ludovika of the Vistani, and she knew Andur and Miri from her previous wanderings.
The trio departs the next day, carrying a sack of russet apples, two small sweet loafs and what silver could be scraped together by the villagers. The snow begins to melt as the group descends from the mountain and joins the Sound Trade Road, but after one day there is a detour towards Leegate. In this ramshackle lakeside town in a shabby tavern, Ludovika finds the recipient of the third and final letter: a assassin known by the name of Silver Arrow, famed not just for her skill but also for her reputation of only accepting contract on those she deems evil. She too is known to Andur and Miri by her real name (though how accuratly they remember it is another matter): Ela'nyya Aefnee'al. All three of them feature in popular stories of heroes who fight injustices, and sometimes they even teamup. They face great peril, always outnumbered, the underdogs, yet always prevail. Between the three of them it is a wonder evil still exists, if the stories told about them are anything to go by.
Back on the road, the group of four now resume the route heading east towards Valmeki and eventually the Balvan Straits, though they will veer north towards the Jireli Mountains long before then. After a week on the road, the group arrives at The Rat King's Tavern, where Ludovika is staying. Situated on the side of a relatively well used trade road, the place is doing fine for itself. A large common room, a generously stoked fire, good selection of ales to accompany the rich, meaty stew served every dinner. At 12 silver a night, rooms are expensive, but for just 4 bronze one can sleep on the common room floor, though that typically entails a struggle with the other patrons for a spot near the fireplace. During their stay, the heroes are recognized by the travelling merchants and craftsmen enjoying a mug of dark, stout beer at a table. Andur is asked if he still carries that pitchfork around with him, whilst Miri is offered two silver by a young dwarf accompanied by two guards. He explains that he is going to the great city of Gjantur Beig, where there are no poor people, but he knows not everywhere is so blessed. He asks that if she meets a beggar or other destitute she give them one of the silver coins. An elf high-born elf, who mistakes Ela'nyya his kin thanks to her sleek, white hair, asks if she can could pin a coin to the wall midflip. All also want to hear about their last adventure and other exploits.
Ludovika is the only one not recognized by anyone, or at least no one approaches her, perhaps another of her disguises would be, though a full day from Barovia still, the clientele of the Rat King may not be too familiar with the Vistani as a whole.
Early morning on the second day, six days before the midwinter solstice, a carriage shows up outside The Rat King's Tavern. The driver is a middle-aged human dressed in a battered travellers cloak and a wide brimmed hat. Reading from some parchment he announces that he is here to collect Miri Elenwood of Sune, Andir Estevan and Silver Arrow. He leads the group outside to a large carriage, pulled by two draft horses. The thing has seen better days, a fresh coat of grey paint unable to hide the many dents, but inside it is softly furnished with dark cushions. The driver notes, “Didn't know there'd be four of you. I was told three,” speaking with a light southern port accent, but he doesn’t argue against Ludovika accompanying the group, and the carriage can comfortably hold four.
The driver closes the door, checking it is secure, then takes his place at the front of the carriage, whipping the two horses into a slow, steady trot. Initially the route is still on a trade road and the going is easy, those who have never been in a carriage before need a short time to adjust, but soon the gently rocking is hardly noticeable. Two hours in however the four adventurers feel a shift as a sharp turn is taken, the trade road is left behind. Now the road becomes narrower, marked with holes and gashes in the packed earth. Without drainage ditches, the wheels splash through puddles from rainfall several days old. The landscape changes too, albeit a little slower: it becomes more rugged, the grass first thicker, then sparse tuffs which give way to tress: tall and pointed pines and thick oaks. The plains you travel over remain flat, but whereas once there were hills in the distance, they are now replaced with steep mountain slopes, reaching up far into the clear sky, the blue become darker as the hours slip by. The borders to the barony of Barovia are marked unofficially by the Svalich woods on the south and eastern side, unofficial in that no one dares enter even the fringes of the tree line. It is getting dark, and soon the towering, moss covered trunks flank you on both sides, forming a living labyrinth, a foreign land cut off from the surrounding people and their customs. Weeds snow sprout across the path, the edges have eroded, merging in some places with the forest floor. Ten minutes later, the carriage reaches a huge stone arch, between which a set of rusty iron bars forms a gate, in front of which are two headless guardians, crumbling statues of soldiers with wicked polerarms set against a charge, the stone of their necks uneven, worn down in particular at the edges.
Abruptly the gates swing open, and the coach stops, “I was told to take you only to the gates, no further,” the driver explains, his nervous face making it clear he feels this is already far enough. He hops down from his perch to inspect his prize, making a brief deal of the creaking sound he claims to have been hearing for the last hour, and musing aloud if the wheel would need mending. However his heart isn't in it, perhaps he was doing simply as a formality at the end of the journey. What he wants more than anything is to leave, and the group watch him attempt to manoeuvre the cumbersome coach around on the narrow path, with little success. The wood is getting to him, the trees are rather thick, especially for a forest with a path through it. Wishing no further delays to his departure, the driver unhitches the horses from the front and leads them back, barely pausing to check they are secured before leading them off, bidding the group good luck in these “strange lands” over his shoulder.
With no other choice the adventurers continue on down the road by foot. The air is becoming stilled, and a mist begins to rise from the earth. It starts among the tress, hugging the trunks and swallowing their needle crowns, and soon wafts onto the path, cutting range of sight in half. When the group is a way down the road, they hear a stuttering scrap and turn to see the gates close, as mysteriously as they opened, before they are swallowed up by the billowing, white clouds. Without the safety of the carriage, the trees seem even closer, and they cannot be sure what is hiding in the mist. Ludovika has walked here before, and is reasonable certain this stretch of the woods are safe. As the group regional guide, she leads along the path, with Andur following in second. Katarina has heard stories of how the undead favour this land, and keeps a hand close to her weapons.
Even by day there was a slight chill, and with night, and maybe the mist as well, the cold is borrowing into everyone's flesh. The idea of reaching the village, where hopefully a warm bath, food, maybe a mug of ale can be acquired is a welcome drive, but of course it is not be. A mile after the gate, the adventurers exit the Svalich Woods, and there is the town, choked with mist, but otherwise still. It not that late, barely an hour after nightfall, there should be people awake, and this absence puzzles even Ludovika. Towards the edge the town seems abandoned even, the houses empty and starting to show neglect, some windows boarded up. The only indication of life is a flickering fire from what you presume to be the village square, directly ahead on the far side of the settlement. Ludovika may not know what is going on, but she is familiar enough with the basic layout of the village: in the village square they will find the village tavern, Blood on the Vine, whilst to the left Barovia’s grandest and tallest house stands, at least 3 stories, where the burgomaster and his family reside, with the small church overlooks the houses from its hilltop perch on the right, run by the old priest Danovitch. As the group plots their move, the wind shifts towards them, the breeze carries the subtle scent of carrion upon it.
Between Fort Perith and the Chakundi capital Firspra, the village of Hythe has an extra reason to feel festive: a tribe of ogres that were threatening the small community is no more. Half were cut down by blade and magic, the remaining fled. They could return, but the nomadic brutes favour survival over revenge, and it is far more likely they will not return to these parts for a generation at least. For now, the heroes of Hythe enjoy the village's hospitality. Short on coin the grateful folk were more than happy to arrange for them to stay at the settlement's lone inn, the Rooster and the Kitten. An early snowstorm has blanketed the mountainside in white. It is unlikely to snow again soon, but this high up it won't be melting until spring either, so for a few days travel will be slow until the boots and wheels of the more determined pilgrims force the snowy roads to settle. One midday, scarcely three weeks before the hibernal solstice, one such traveller approached Hythe. She had followed the stories of the heroes, and carried with her a letter for two of them: Andur Estevan and Mirian Evenwood. The messenger is brazen and rude, making a scene with the heroes that soon replaces the ogres defeat as the story on everyone’s lips. It turns out she is Ludovika of the Vistani, and she knew Andur and Miri from her previous wanderings.
The trio departs the next day, carrying a sack of russet apples, two small sweet loafs and what silver could be scraped together by the villagers. The snow begins to melt as the group descends from the mountain and joins the Sound Trade Road, but after one day there is a detour towards Leegate. In this ramshackle lakeside town in a shabby tavern, Ludovika finds the recipient of the third and final letter: a assassin known by the name of Silver Arrow, famed not just for her skill but also for her reputation of only accepting contract on those she deems evil. She too is known to Andur and Miri by her real name (though how accuratly they remember it is another matter): Ela'nyya Aefnee'al. All three of them feature in popular stories of heroes who fight injustices, and sometimes they even teamup. They face great peril, always outnumbered, the underdogs, yet always prevail. Between the three of them it is a wonder evil still exists, if the stories told about them are anything to go by.
Back on the road, the group of four now resume the route heading east towards Valmeki and eventually the Balvan Straits, though they will veer north towards the Jireli Mountains long before then. After a week on the road, the group arrives at The Rat King's Tavern, where Ludovika is staying. Situated on the side of a relatively well used trade road, the place is doing fine for itself. A large common room, a generously stoked fire, good selection of ales to accompany the rich, meaty stew served every dinner. At 12 silver a night, rooms are expensive, but for just 4 bronze one can sleep on the common room floor, though that typically entails a struggle with the other patrons for a spot near the fireplace. During their stay, the heroes are recognized by the travelling merchants and craftsmen enjoying a mug of dark, stout beer at a table. Andur is asked if he still carries that pitchfork around with him, whilst Miri is offered two silver by a young dwarf accompanied by two guards. He explains that he is going to the great city of Gjantur Beig, where there are no poor people, but he knows not everywhere is so blessed. He asks that if she meets a beggar or other destitute she give them one of the silver coins. An elf high-born elf, who mistakes Ela'nyya his kin thanks to her sleek, white hair, asks if she can could pin a coin to the wall midflip. All also want to hear about their last adventure and other exploits.
Ludovika is the only one not recognized by anyone, or at least no one approaches her, perhaps another of her disguises would be, though a full day from Barovia still, the clientele of the Rat King may not be too familiar with the Vistani as a whole.
Early morning on the second day, six days before the midwinter solstice, a carriage shows up outside The Rat King's Tavern. The driver is a middle-aged human dressed in a battered travellers cloak and a wide brimmed hat. Reading from some parchment he announces that he is here to collect Miri Elenwood of Sune, Andir Estevan and Silver Arrow. He leads the group outside to a large carriage, pulled by two draft horses. The thing has seen better days, a fresh coat of grey paint unable to hide the many dents, but inside it is softly furnished with dark cushions. The driver notes, “Didn't know there'd be four of you. I was told three,” speaking with a light southern port accent, but he doesn’t argue against Ludovika accompanying the group, and the carriage can comfortably hold four.
The driver closes the door, checking it is secure, then takes his place at the front of the carriage, whipping the two horses into a slow, steady trot. Initially the route is still on a trade road and the going is easy, those who have never been in a carriage before need a short time to adjust, but soon the gently rocking is hardly noticeable. Two hours in however the four adventurers feel a shift as a sharp turn is taken, the trade road is left behind. Now the road becomes narrower, marked with holes and gashes in the packed earth. Without drainage ditches, the wheels splash through puddles from rainfall several days old. The landscape changes too, albeit a little slower: it becomes more rugged, the grass first thicker, then sparse tuffs which give way to tress: tall and pointed pines and thick oaks. The plains you travel over remain flat, but whereas once there were hills in the distance, they are now replaced with steep mountain slopes, reaching up far into the clear sky, the blue become darker as the hours slip by. The borders to the barony of Barovia are marked unofficially by the Svalich woods on the south and eastern side, unofficial in that no one dares enter even the fringes of the tree line. It is getting dark, and soon the towering, moss covered trunks flank you on both sides, forming a living labyrinth, a foreign land cut off from the surrounding people and their customs. Weeds snow sprout across the path, the edges have eroded, merging in some places with the forest floor. Ten minutes later, the carriage reaches a huge stone arch, between which a set of rusty iron bars forms a gate, in front of which are two headless guardians, crumbling statues of soldiers with wicked polerarms set against a charge, the stone of their necks uneven, worn down in particular at the edges.
Abruptly the gates swing open, and the coach stops, “I was told to take you only to the gates, no further,” the driver explains, his nervous face making it clear he feels this is already far enough. He hops down from his perch to inspect his prize, making a brief deal of the creaking sound he claims to have been hearing for the last hour, and musing aloud if the wheel would need mending. However his heart isn't in it, perhaps he was doing simply as a formality at the end of the journey. What he wants more than anything is to leave, and the group watch him attempt to manoeuvre the cumbersome coach around on the narrow path, with little success. The wood is getting to him, the trees are rather thick, especially for a forest with a path through it. Wishing no further delays to his departure, the driver unhitches the horses from the front and leads them back, barely pausing to check they are secured before leading them off, bidding the group good luck in these “strange lands” over his shoulder.
With no other choice the adventurers continue on down the road by foot. The air is becoming stilled, and a mist begins to rise from the earth. It starts among the tress, hugging the trunks and swallowing their needle crowns, and soon wafts onto the path, cutting range of sight in half. When the group is a way down the road, they hear a stuttering scrap and turn to see the gates close, as mysteriously as they opened, before they are swallowed up by the billowing, white clouds. Without the safety of the carriage, the trees seem even closer, and they cannot be sure what is hiding in the mist. Ludovika has walked here before, and is reasonable certain this stretch of the woods are safe. As the group regional guide, she leads along the path, with Andur following in second. Katarina has heard stories of how the undead favour this land, and keeps a hand close to her weapons.
Even by day there was a slight chill, and with night, and maybe the mist as well, the cold is borrowing into everyone's flesh. The idea of reaching the village, where hopefully a warm bath, food, maybe a mug of ale can be acquired is a welcome drive, but of course it is not be. A mile after the gate, the adventurers exit the Svalich Woods, and there is the town, choked with mist, but otherwise still. It not that late, barely an hour after nightfall, there should be people awake, and this absence puzzles even Ludovika. Towards the edge the town seems abandoned even, the houses empty and starting to show neglect, some windows boarded up. The only indication of life is a flickering fire from what you presume to be the village square, directly ahead on the far side of the settlement. Ludovika may not know what is going on, but she is familiar enough with the basic layout of the village: in the village square they will find the village tavern, Blood on the Vine, whilst to the left Barovia’s grandest and tallest house stands, at least 3 stories, where the burgomaster and his family reside, with the small church overlooks the houses from its hilltop perch on the right, run by the old priest Danovitch. As the group plots their move, the wind shifts towards them, the breeze carries the subtle scent of carrion upon it.